


The Conduct Unbecoming Raid

by Amedia



Category: Rat Patrol
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-13
Updated: 2010-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amedia/pseuds/Amedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troy learns the real reason why the British Army was so eager to get rid of Moffitt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Conduct Unbecoming Raid

**Author's Note:**

> Originally printed in FLANKING MANEUVERS 1 (March 1997).

"It should be taking effect about now," said the doctor, looking at his watch. "Try asking him a question."

  
"Very well," Dietrich said. "Sergeant Moffitt, what is your current mission?"

  
Moffitt regarded him without suspicion and said with perfect honesty, "I can't tell you that."

  
The doctor smothered a smile. "Well, he is telling the truth."

  
Dietrich glared at the doctor and turned back to his prisoner. "Why can't you tell me?"

  
"Because it would jeopardize the Allied offensive being planned for this region," Moffitt said readily.

  
Although it was the obvious answer, it wasn't something one of the Rats would ordinarily admit. Dietrich decided to follow up. "And what is that offensive being planned, Sergeant?" he asked.

  
"I can't tell you that," his subject said equably.

  
Dietrich threw up his hands. "Doctor?" he asked through clenched teeth.

  
The doctor smiled. "Relax, Hauptmann Dietrich. You have some time to work with him. My presence may be inhibiting him, so I will leave. Try chatting with him for a while to gain his confidence and wear his inhibitions down further." With that he left the room.

  
 _Wonderful_ , thought Dietrich. _Just what I need. I finally get my hands on a member of the Rat Patrol who's loaded with truth serum and what do I get to do? CHAT?!_

  
He fumed quietly. He wasn't on his own territory and felt uncomfortable. The small outpost had, by merest chance, captured one of the Rat Patrol whose motorcycle had broken down on the way back from some sort of courier mission. They happened to have a doctor who was itching to try out a new formula of truth serum, and had requested Dietrich's assistance, since the stuff worked better when a familiar voice was asking the questions.

  
They'd called him this morning and he had made the short drive out to visit. On his way in he had observed that security seemed lax, a disaster when dealing with the Rat Patrol. He'd mentioned it to the commandant, who seemed offended and unimpressed. Dietrich was therefore expecting Troy and the others to show up at any minute, and determined to make the most of what little time he had.

  
He sighed. Actually, there was something he'd been wondering about. . . . "Tell me, Sergeant, how did someone with your qualifications wind up attached to an American unit? I wouldn't have thought the British Eighth Army would be willing to let you go."

  
"Actually, they were glad to get rid of me."

  
"Why?"

  
"Because I'm not exclusively or even primarily heterosexual," said Moffitt matter-of-factly.

  
"What?" Dietrich recovered his composure. This was not something he had expected to uncover in the course of a casual conversation. He immediately put the back of his mind to work thinking of a way to turn it to his advantage, and occupied the front of his mind with the immediate conversation. "Could you elucidate upon your situation?" Moffitt frowned, not really understanding the question. Dietrich rephrased it. "How did your superiors find out?"

  
"I originally enlisted in the regular infantry so that I wouldn't have to undergo a background check," said Moffitt. "I was wounded in France just before Dunkirk and smuggled out by the Maquis. When I was in the hospital back in England they asked me how I got on with the underground, what I thought of them and so on. I said I got on fine but that they kept twitting me for my colonial accent. What do you mean? they said. I learned to speak French as a child in North Africa, I said. Well, that was that. There simply aren't enough desert experts in the world and I was sent to Cairo as soon as I was well enough to travel and assigned to the LRDG. They ran a background check on me then.

  
"It was an embarrassment. They needed me desperately, too much to just kick me out. But they didn't want me. So they foisted me off on the Americans, without telling them they were getting damaged goods. And here I am."

  
Dietrich had gotten interested in the story despite himself. "Does Troy know?"

  
Moffitt winced. "No, none of them knows. Especially not Troy."

  
"Why don't you want Troy to know?"

  
"He'd probably kick me out."

  
Dietrich chuckled. "Would he worry about your young driver?"

  
"I'm no cradle-robber," Moffitt said indignantly.

  
"Then why Troy, especially?"

  
Moffitt was fighting the drug again. "I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone. If he knew I'd fallen in love with him he'd be furious."

  
Dietrich got up from his chair and began to pace. The back of his mind had produced several interesting possibilities.

  


* * *

Before he could mentally explore those possibilities, however, he heard sounds from outside. Shouting and running, gunfire and explosives. Obviously the Rat Patrol had shown up to reclaim their member. Dietrich had expected no less.

  
Moments later Troy and Pettigrew burst into the room. Dietrich looked at the machine guns pointing at his head and decided it wouldn't hurt to be gracious. "Gentlemen," he said, gesturing to Moffitt. "He's all yours."

  
Troy grinned. "Thanks, Captain," he said. "Tully, tie him to that chair over there so he can't make trouble. Then go help Hitch--when you're sure the place is secure you can bring the jeeps around."

  
"OK, Sarge," said Tully. "If you please, Captain?" Dietrich marveled--six words in a row was a remarkable speech from the young Kentuckian--and sat down.

  
Troy began undoing the straps that bound Moffitt to the table. Tully finished tying Dietrich to the chair and went outside to help Hitch.

  
Troy unbuckled the last strap and looked down at Moffitt. "You OK?" he asked. "How do you feel?"

  
"Very odd," said Moffitt, pronouncing his words with extreme care. "Disoriented."

  
Troy looked up at Dietrich, who was watching him with a curious expression. "Truth serum," said Dietrich. "It'll wear off in a little while and he'll probably pass out and wake up with a hangover." He considered for a moment, made a decision, and said, "Why don't you ask him how he feels about you? I think the answer will come as a surprise."

  
Troy stared back at him, unable to fathom his intentions. "What he thinks about me?"

  
"No, how he feels about you."

  
Troy shrugged. "Okay, Moffitt, how do you feel about me?"

  
Moffitt looked up at him with wide, dilated eyes. "I can't tell you that," he said slowly. "You'd kick me off the team."

  
Dietrich chuckled. Troy looked up, inquiring. Dietrich explained, "That's the sort of answer I kept getting to all my strategic questions about your plans. 'I can't tell you that. You're not supposed to know.' All perfectly truthful, of course. The doctor thought I might eventually get past it if I could get him to open up and chat for a bit, which was why I started asking him about you and the others."

  
Troy grinned, imagining Dietrich's frustration, then turned back to the question at hand. "Why does he say he can't tell me? Does he hate me?"  
Dietrich smiled. "Quite the opposite."

  
Troy looked down at Moffitt and smiled. "You love me?" he asked.

  
Moffitt looked up into Troy's smiling face and met his eyes, seeing nothing there but amusement and affection. He felt compelled to answer truthfully, and was sure that Troy would detest him for what he was about to say. He closed his eyes and turned his face away, to preserve the memory of that smile that would never be given to him again. "Not exactly," he said softly. "I'm in love with you."

  
He heard Troy's sudden gasp, and wondered what Dietrich was thinking.

  
Dietrich was trying to predict Troy's response. On the one hand, he might be furious and demand Moffitt's resignation immediately, or threaten him with a dishonorable discharge for conduct unbecoming a soldier. On the other, he might decide to overlook the whole incident and go on as if nothing had happened, which would introduce an insidious element of doubt and mistrust into the leadership that made the Rat Patrol such an effective unit. Either way, the camaraderie and integrity of the Rat Patrol would be compromised. The last thing he expected was what Troy actually did.

  
"Hey, what do you know," Troy said. He put a hand to Moffitt's face, gently turned it back toward himself, bent down and kissed him on the lips. Then he looked up at Dietrich, who was speechless with amazement. "Thanks, Captain," he said cheerfully.

  
The door opened and Tully came in, Hitch just behind him. "We're ready, Sarge," Tully said. He looked at Dietrich, who was still goggling at Troy. "What's with him?"

  
"I kissed Moffitt," said Troy.

  
Dietrich turned his gaze to the two young men standing in the doorway. Surely they would be horrified by their leader's aberrant behavior.

  
Tully shrugged. "'Bout time."

  
"Yeah," said Hitch. "We were gonna throw you two in a Turkish bath, steal your clothes and lock you in for a couple hours if you didn't figure it out for yourselves pretty soon."

  
 _I am surrounded by perverts_ , thought Dietrich. _Combat-tested, battle-hardened perverts._ He closed his eyes and wished them all away.

  
When he opened them they had left. He breathed a sigh of relief and went back to working on his bonds.

  


* * *

  


Moffitt opened his eyes. It was dark outside. He was lying on his own bedroll out in the middle of the desert. He could hear Hitch and Tully some distance away setting up camp for the night. Troy was sitting beside him, gazing off into the distance. "Troy?" Moffitt whispered.

  
Troy looked down at him and smiled with relief. "Decided to join us again, have you?"

  
Moffitt managed an unsteady smile in return. His head was pounding and his memories were confused. The last day seemed like a jumble of dreams and nightmares. Dietrich had been asking him questions.. There were needles. He remembered the cold metal sliding into a vein, the warmth oozing up his arm, and then. . . . Moffitt sat up suddenly, shaking. Troy put an arm around his shoulders and eased him back down. "Troy! Did I say anything? What happened? Dietrich. . . . "

  
"It's all right. You didn't give away any military secrets," Troy said. There was amusement in his voice that Moffitt couldn't trace, and a slight emphasis on the word "military." "Do you remember any of it?"

  
Moffitt thought hard, trying to retrieve a fragment that would make sense. "Did Dietrich ask me whether I had exaggerated the Sahara's ecological heterogeneity?"

  
Troy looked puzzled. "No, I don't think so."

  
"Oh," said Moffitt. "That must have been my doctoral defense."

  
Troy smiled down at him. Moffitt stared into his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by another memory that couldn't be real. Then again, it certainly hadn't happened at his doctoral defense, either.

  
"Remember something else?" Troy whispered.

  
"I'm not sure."

  
"Well, let me see if I can remind you," Troy said.

  


* * *

  


"All done?" said Hitch.

  
"Mm-hmm," said Tully. "Let's go tell Troy."

  
As they walked back over to where they had left their sergeants, Hitch asked, "D'you s'pose Moffitt's woke up yet?"

  
Tully shrugged. "They've been awfully quiet."

  
They came up a little rise and spotted Troy and Moffitt. Moffitt was definitely awake and had moreover obviously recovered his memory with Troy's assistance. Hitch looked at Tully. Tully looked at Hitch. "I guess we could go make dinner or something," said Hitch.  
"Yeah," grinned Tully. "They're gonna be awfully hungry after all that."

  
"Compliments of Dietrich, matchmaker extraordinaire," said Hitch. "Who'd have thought it?"


End file.
